The Worst of Fates
by Misha
Summary: The war is over, but the price paid is a high one.


The Worst of Fates   
By Misha 

Disclaimer- Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and is not mine, however much I might wish differently. However, I am not making any money off of this, so please do not sue me! 

Author's Notes- I don't really know what inspired me to write it, but I couldn't resist. It's a horrible, dark look at one possible outcome. An outcome that I hope we never see, but... Well, that's all for now. Enjoy and remember that feedback is very much appreciated! 

Spoilers- All four books, specifically GoF. 

Pairing- Minor Harry/Hermione. 

Rating- PG   


* * *

Hermione stood in front of her bedroom mirror, preparing for the day ahead of her. 

Every week she went through the same thing, had to work herself up to be able to do what she had to do. 

God how she dreaded Saturdays. Dreaded the one day a week she would put herself through the never-ending pain and torture that each visit to her husband brought her. 

Sometimes, she considered not going. Sometimes, she even considered stopping the visits all together. 

But she couldn't. No, even though Harry did not know her anymore, even though she was a stranger to him, she had to go. 

Not for him, after all she knew that it made no real difference to him whether she visited or not, but for herself. Because no matter how hard it was to see him, it would be harder not to see him. 

At least this way she got to look at him. To see the face that she loved so much, to gaze into those beautiful green eyes that had once looked at her so lovingly... 

He was still handsome, but he was not the man she remembered from the happier times. Not really. Time in St. Mungos had taken it's toll on him, had made slight changes on his body. 

But the worst changes were the ones of the mind. The mind that was no longer there. He was insane. 

She often wished that he had just died instead of living this way for so long. She hated having to think of him as he was now. 

No, Hermione wanted to remember Harry as he had been so long ago. 

But that brought it's own problems as well. 

Remembering the way he had once been. How he had once been the darling of the wizard world, a legend. A hero. 

Oh, really, he still was. He was still spoken of with reverence, his great deeds would never be forgotten. But he was always spoken of as if he was already dead. 

And to most people, he was. 

Their world did not want to think of their saviour as a madman, trapped for the rest of his life in the psychiatric ward of St. Mungos. 

No, they would rather pretend that he was dead. That those Death Eaters had killed him after he had destroyed Voldemort once and for all, instead of just causing him to lose his mind. 

It was easier for them that way. Easier for people to hold him up to the glory that he had once achieved and forget the unpleasant reality that threatened to taint their image of him. 

The worst part was that Hermione wished that she could do the same. No, not quite. 

She did not want to remember him as a hero, she just wanted to remember as a man, as her husband. 

Because he wasn't anymore, not really. She was a stranger to him now, he could not even remember her name, let alone the fact that he had once loved her. 

And she hated that. Hated him for it. Hated the world. 

It was so damn unfair. It was so wrong. The Boy Who Lived, that was what they had called him once. But the title was no longer appropriate, after all, he had stopped really living a long time ago. 

One thing that had come out of this Hell was the fact that Hermione had come to respect Neville a lot, much more than she ever had when they were young. 

He made the trip with her every week, going to see his parents as well as Harry, and giving her some moral support. 

She could not imagine how he had managed to do this almost all his life. She had only been doing it for five years and she was not sure how much longer she could do it. 

But Neville never complained about it, as far as she knew, he never even thought about not going. It was just something he did. For his parents and for his friend. 

Hermione sometimes wondered for which one of them it was worse. 

Neville had been doing this almost all his life. He had been forced to live with this Hell ever since he was a small child. He had been denied real parents, instead only getting empty shells who would never know him. 

She, on the other hand, had grown up surrounded by love and affection; she had not even really thought about the possibility of this kind of horror until it had forced itself upon her life. She hadn't had to grow up knowing it. 

But at the same time, Neville had a wife and children he adored. He would always mourn his parents, but he had filled the void with his own family. He had found true happiness that was only mildly tainted by the pain of his past. 

Hermione, though, would never have that kind of happiness again. Her family had been ripped apart by this mess. Because of it, it was now just her and her little girl. The daughter she felt so guilty about bringing up, knowing that her daughter would never remember her father the way he had once been. 

Her daughter had only been a baby when it had happened. When Harry had become lost to them. 

Every once in a while, Hermione brought her with her to see him, but usually she left her behind. Lily was just too young to really understand and it was hard on her seeing her father like that. 

It was hard on everyone. No one wanted to see Harry like he was now. 

Hermione knew that was why so many people tried to forget what had really happened. It was why she had so much respect for those who did not. 

No one visited as often as she and Neville did, but that was understandable, after all it was more her duty than anyone elses. 

But they still came. They still paid tribute to their lost friend. 

Sirius came more often than any of the others, though Hermione knew that it was hardest on him. 

He had thought of Harry like a son, had stepped into the role of godfather as much as he had been able to, and she knew that he would have given anything for it to be him suffering this fate instead of Harry. But he couldn't, all he could do was stand there and watch. 

Hermione knew that Ron felt the same way and that was why he rarely visited, because he would have done anything to have been able to prevent that happening to Harry. 

The other visitors were all sad, all mournful, but most of them had accepted it. Had accepted that Harry was lost to them and only came because they loved him and because they felt that they owed it to the man that he had once been. 

She almost hated them for it. Hated their pity, because she knew that some of it was directed at her. 

Sometimes, she felt like lashing out. She considered telling them the truth. That she would put up with another three or four centuries of seeing Harry like this, just for the memory of the few years that they had shared. 

It was true. She hated what had become of him, but even to save him that fate, she did not think that she could give up loving him and knowing that he loved her in return. 

For a little while, Hermione knew that she had had it all. She had had her husband, her little girl, and the perfect life. 

That was more than most people ever got, she knew that. 

She reminded herself of that whenever she got too bitter. At least she had known true happiness for at least a little while. 

It might not be enough, but at least it was _something_. 

Finally, she dragged herself away from the mirror. 

It was time. 

As she left the room, her eyes caught the picture of her and Harry on their wedding day. 

How happy they had been both then. Well, happiness was fleeting. 

She knew that all too well. 

With one last longing look at the picture, she headed out the door to go see the stranger who used to be her husband. 

The End 


End file.
